Chance Encounter
by MillieClann
Summary: Following the accident that killed her parents, Elena Gilbert ends up in the emergency room of Founders' Hospital-and in the hands of two talented, eccentric new doctors on staff. AU; implied/eventual Delana.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's notes:** I needed a quick break from the multipart story I'm working on, so this is just something short I was distracting myself with. AU; vampire; Damon/Elena.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters, or the town of Mystic Falls.

Dr. Salvatore entered the emergency room at a half run, a contrast to the blur of speed that had brought him down from the third floor of Founders' General. But there was no one to note the contrast; he'd been careful to check that there were no observers.

Now he paused, noted with some distaste that Tanner was the physician on duty, and addressed him curtly. "What happened? I was paged." He forced himself not to draw attention to his still-damp hair by touching it, though he badly wanted to check and see if it was dry enough to escape notice.

Tanner had the sour look of a man having to rely on the skills of a colleague he both loathed and envied. He answered shortly, "Car accident at Wickery Bridge. Two pronounced dead on arrival; I want you to take a look at the third."

Stefan nodded, already pushing past Tanner for a closer look at the girl on the table. One of the attending nurses chanted the girl's blood stats without being asked, used to the pediatrician's demands for efficiency. Low blood oxygen, in spite of the mask at her face. He lifted one slender hand in his, noting the blueish tinge beneath the nails. Her blood pressure was dropping. He probed her abdomen, noting the rigidity and swelling, and sighed. Internal bleeding, and a lot of it.

She was so young.

The dark hair fanned across the table, wet and gleaming. Her lips were full but delicate in her pale, perfect face.

That face was so familiar it made his chest ache.

I can't lose her, he thought, not without knowing her.

Out loud he said, "Clear the room, Tanner." The two nurses at the girl's head exchanged glances, no doubt eager to add this story to the volume of gossip about the crazy new doctor and his impossible demands. Tanner drew in his breath for what would obviously have been a tirade, but Stefan cut him off.

"I mean it. Get everyone out of here, and send for my own team. I'll cope on my own until they arrive." Having his own hand-picked interns and nursing crew had been one of his preconditions for accepting this job. The hospital's governing board, stunned at their good luck in acquiring a specialist of his calibre at the relatively modest salary the small town hospital could offer, had capitulated happily.

Tanner snorted. "There's nothing your precious team can do. We've called for a surgeon already, but chances are there's too much damage to repair. You want to wait for him own your own, be my guest." The nurses were already scrambling to get away before Tanner could take his bad temper out on them.

Stefan heard them all leave, heard the doors swing shut behind them, and didn't realize someone had taken the opportunity to slip into the room until he heard the familiar, sarcastic voice.

"She looks a little old to be in need of a pediatrician, surely? I mean, she looks old enough to...well. She looks old enough."

"You're disgusting," Stefan answered automatically.

Damon smirked. "Whereas you, dear brother, are a saint. Virtuously stepping in to save the life of this young woman, with absolutely nothing to gain. No personal investment here whatsoever, is that the story?"

Stefan's voice was tight. "She's sixteen. She's just lost both her parents. And she's dying. What do you expect me to do?"

"I'm sure you'll do whatever makes you miserable," Damon said. "The real mystery is, why wasn't I paged first? You'd think they'd want their newest, hottest, most talented surgeon on scene for this." He buffed his nails modestly against his white coat. Stefan gritted his teeth and tried to ignore him.

"I'd just love to get to work on her," Damon continued, drawing the last word out obscenely. Stefan growled and stepped closer, threateningly, but the elder Salvatore brother laughed and sidestepped him, moving closer to the unconscious patient.

He stood next to the girl, his face still as he looked at her. For a long moment neither brother moved.

Then Stefan became aware of increasing noise from outside, shouts and crying, and stepped away. "I'll be back," he said shortly. "Someone needs to tell her family what's happening. Don't do anything stupid."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Damon said mildly once his brother had left. Then, neatly, he bit into his own wrist and slipped the oxygen mask away from the girl's face, letting his blood drip steadily between her barely-parted lips. The wound healed in seconds, unnoticed; his eyes were fixed on her face, watching as she swallowed, and waiting for the inevitable change.


	2. Chapter 2

Damon lounged, catlike, on the wide window ledge of the silent hospital room. The door was closed, against all rules of the hospital, but he cared no more for the rules of the hospital than for any other example of human pointlessness.

The girl was sleeping, and he was watching her.

Remarkable, how much this Elena Gilbert looked like Katherine. He told himself that it was only curiosity that drew him here. She could never be what Katherine had been; no one could. Katherine was irreplaceable.

But when her eyelids fluttered, he leaned forward, trying to quash a feeling almost like hope.

"Back among the living," he drawled, his smile cruel. "Only not quite."

"Where am I?" the girl asked, and he rolled his eyes at the predictability of it, but then she tilted her head, listening, and he acknowledged a certain intelligence in those eyes. "Is this the hospital? Why is it so quiet?"

"Congratulations: you're on the top floor," he told her. "Otherwise known as "that set of unused rooms and storage space that hasn't been used in years." My brother-your doctor-finds it convenient to stick his failures up here. Well, his failure. As far as I know, you're the first. He's a bit of a perfectionist."

"Failure?" she repeated cautiously. She licked her teeth, a puzzled frown marring the perfection of that face. Her fangs, he knew, must be aching with hunger by now, with a need she could neither name nor understand. A better man would have felt pity.

Damon felt only annoyance, and amusement. Not, he told himself decisively, guilt. Not for a moment.

"What kind of failure?" She pinned him in place with a look.

"Oh, you know." He swung himself down to the floor casually. "The kind doctors dread: the ones that die on the table."

"But I'm not dead," she told him, her tone that of someone who isn't sure if she's being told a joke, or being made the butt of one. She didn't sound afraid, though. He had to give her that.

"Not exactly dead," he conceded. "How are you feeling? Hungry, I bet. Starving. We'll have to get you out of here and do something about that." He felt a little flash of excitement at the idea of teaching her to hunt. It had been too long since he'd had female companionship-at least, too long since he'd been in the company of any female who didn't bore him after a handful of hours. Somehow he could sense that this one was different.

"There was an accident," she said slowly, remembering. Her eyes went dark with pain as she withdrew into her own thoughts. "My family..."

"Your aunt-a most acceptable piece of flesh, that aunt-has already been told the painful truth by my ever-so-conscientious brother. Nothing left now but the funeral arrangements. I do hope she doesn't make a fuss about seeing the body, don't you? That could create difficulties."

"Funeral," she whispered. He could see it in her face: the exact moment when she remembered. "My parents. Where are my parents?"

All at once he regretted his decision to be the one waiting here. He could have left all this messy, emotional stuff to Stefan. "Don't think about it," he told her now. "Don't feel. It's better that way. Just come with me. You need to eat."

She let him take her hand and pull her from the bed, and then looked down at herself, seeing the hospital gown. "Outside," she told him, pointing, but he grinned wolfishly and shook his head.

"I'm afraid you don't have a change of clothes, Miss Gilbert, so until we can find you something suitable-"

"Actually she does," Stefan said, opening the door, and Daman curled his lip in disgust. Trust boring, reliable Stefan to show up just in time to curtail a little semi-consensual nudity. "Sorry to ruin your plans." He tossed her clothes on the foot of the bed, politely averting his eyes, and Damon entertained a brief fantasy of ripping out his throat. What was the point of immortality if you never allowed yourself a single second of pure pleasure?

"We could share," Damon suggested, arching one eyebrow. "One at each end." Stefan growled low in his throat, and Elena blushed.

But while she was obviously embarrassed, she wasn't cowed. "Get out," she said firmly. "Both of you. Wait for me outside. I'll come out when I'm ready, and then I want an explanation, and something to eat."

Make that someone, Damon thought to himself, and smiled. She wouldn't feel so prim in a little while, he'd see to that. Whatever else happened, he intended to savour making her lose control, and there'd be nothing Stefan could do to stop him, not when she had Damon's blood animating her body, and overtaking her will. He could see the uncertainty in her eyes already, as if her blood sang out his name, imploring her to go to him.

"I'll be right outside," he promised, and had the satisfaction of seeing her watch him until the door closed. She couldn't take her eyes off me, he thought smugly. She's mine already; she just doesn't know it yet.  
His aching, abandoned, second-choice heart expanded with hope, and with hunger.


End file.
